


To be by your Side

by The_Grodyverse



Series: Ghosts [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Allusions to Suicide, Depression, Drug Use, Drunk Driving, Ghost Eddie Kaspbrak, Ghosts, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Partying, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, bad choices, richie is a mess, the other losers are trying man, the worst birthday party, this sounds so bad, wow I'm really selling this fic huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Grodyverse/pseuds/The_Grodyverse
Summary: Richie has good days, and he has bad days. Only thing is he fucking hates the good days.Eddie is gone, and Richie can't find it in himself to want a life without him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Ghosts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618951
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	To be by your Side

Richie has good days, and he has bad. God that was cliche to say, but apparently that’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s what everyone says. It’s normal. All the other people in his groups, and all the professionals he manages to occasionally drag himself to say the same. Richie thinks he might be different than the rest of them though, because he fucking hates having good days. He doesn’t want them. Every time he realizes he had spent time relaxed, oblivious,  _ okay  _ he’s fucking pissed. He doesn’t want to be okay, doesn’t  _ deserve  _ it. His only reprieve should be when he has flooded his body with so many chemicals he can’t feel anything normal anymore, because then at least he’s killing himself slowly at the same time. He hates it when his brain tries to dissociate when he’s sober, protect itself from the pain of reality. He should feel all the hurt.

But Richie was also weak. Sometimes he just can’t take the pain anymore and he needs to numb  _ everything _ . Most of the time, if he’s being honest. Luckily he’s a celebrity in LA so substances that make his mind buzz and body feel light are easy to come by. And maybe he revels in the headaches, in the heart palpitations and occasional tremor in his hands. Makes him feel like he’s heading in the direction he wants. He had tried once to find comfort in a warm body, had gone somewhere where no one cared what closeted celebrity was getting their rocks off there. And fuck, he didn't really care anymore if everyone found out about him and he lost every single fan he ever had. A beautiful very _young_ boy with big brown eyes and short hair had pressed up against him and he had immediately gotten physically sick. He didn't go back. 

He’s at another party tonight, but this one is a little different. Somehow he was still enough of a celebrity to have industry friends, and those “friends” had caught wind his birthday was coming and decided he needed a big debauched Hollywood party for it. He was almost positive they just wanted an excuse to hold a party for other purposes, and that most of the people didn’t know why they were here except to rub elbows. They didn’t know he wished this was the last birthday he ever had either so that made things easier. The losers had asked him about his birthday, if he wanted to do anything, to see them. He had said no and they had respected it. They didn’t know about this party. 

As soon as he had arrived, with a strange lack of fanfare considering he was supposed to be the guest of honor, he had gone immediately to find the hard drugs. Cocaine wasn’t the most creative thing for an aging comedian to take but he found relief in how it could make him feel some kind of giddy joy, even if it was fake. Add alcohol to reduce the anxiety and it was almost like having a good time again. He has been hanging around, drawing attention to himself like he’s good at, feeling powerful whenever he makes starlets and executives laugh out loud. 

“Isn’t trashmouth hilarious?” some bigwig producer says a little too loudly, clapping him on the back “Hysterical!” Richie’s plastered on grin freezes and then falls. 

“ _ Hilarious! Hysterical!!”  _

“Refreshing to just have someone around who isn’t afraid to say the shit we all think! All these sensitive types around now-” Richie turns and walks away without any fanfare, not noticing or caring how the man reacts. He’s been over being hailed as some kind of edgy hero for a long time. It’s all a fucking lie anyway. His desire to be here anymore has quickly dropped to zero, and the intensity with which he  _ feels  _ thanks to the drugs in his system is suddenly incredibly unbearable. He wasn’t stupid though and he was nothing if not opportunistic, he wasn’t going to skip out on free expensive booze, especially since it was the only thing he could think of to dampen the buzzing in his nerves. He goes to the bar and orders drinks one after another until even the private Hollywood party bartender is giving him a look. He swipes a bottle when they’re distracted and sways towards the door, praying no one will want his attention. Luckily even though it’s supposed to be his party he makes it outside safely. These people sniff out opportunity like bloodhounds and it’s not like his career is exactly booming at the moment, he can hardly be surprised if he barely gets a glance when his mouth is shut. He stands in the heavy LA night air for several minutes, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to hurt between swigs of bourbon. He had let it happen again, role play his old self,  _ forget  _ for a moment. He was never allowed to forget, not again. He makes his way over to the baby-faced valet parking attendants. The one who takes his ticket glances at the bottle in his hands nervously. 

“Sir-”

“Listen kid.” Richie interrupts “Trying to be a good person isn’t going to get you anywhere in this town, so just go get my fucking car.” The boy flushes and does as he’s told. Once back in the front seat of his stupid red sports car he keeps up his methodical sipping. He wondered if the host would even notice he was gone. 

A lot of people assumed things about him. He can’t blame them. They assumed Richie Tozier lived to always be one step ahead of everyone else, the wittiest man in the room. Needed the absolute mental subjugation of those around him because they were in awe of his quick thinking and smart mouth. That had never been what he really craved. What he wanted was an equal, someone who could take his quips and chuck them right right back at him like a boomerang. The idea of being out-witted, of having to put up a mental fight didn’t upset him, it  _ thrilled  _ him.

Eddie had given him that. 

Even as kids, when Richie’s jokes and voices were cringey at  _ best,  _ Eddie had always been toe to toe with him. Sure he might not have been as creative as Richie but at the end of every one of their dumb fake arguments he felt like he had just run the best race of his life. Every time Eddie scalded him with words he fell a little bit more in love. 

He had really convinced himself that there was no way he could still care that much, after the call. Sure it was normal to feel curiosity about seeing your first crush, especially your secret gay first crush, but to still care? To feel your bones tremble inside you with anticipation? That was pathetic. But then he saw him, back lit by those fucking fish tanks and he was just a scared little queer 13 year old all over again. He was so different than he remembered, but also completely the same and it turned out the feelings from back then had never left him, just hibernated deep in his chest like all his memories from Derry. Adult Eddie was still smaller than him, compact and clean shaven with hair combed back and tamed like always. He and Richie sat down and started their little dance immediately and Richie felt like a man lost in the desert tasting water on his tongue again. He was perfect. 

None of that mattered now though. He chucks the empty liquor bottle out the window and feels immense satisfaction when it shatters against a shitty garden statue. 

He had known adult Eddie for barely 24 hours. A pitiful amount of time for his heart to wake up from its long sleep only to be given the final blow and be crushed inside his rib cage. He still felt like he should be coughing up blood with every breath, a proof of its demise. Barely a handful of memories was all he had of the man, and he held onto them so hard it hurt, so hard he felt his body would crack from it. He craved to know every corner of Eddie’s soul, every step he had taken since their childhood, but all he had was a few terrified hours. 

Richie shoves the keys in his ignition and peels out of the mile-long driveway, nearly busting through the automatic gate in his hurry. He can almost see the headline now “Richie Tozier splits from his own birthday party, continues downward spiral”. It was almost funny. His focus seems to shift in and out, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The car nearly stalls several times as he tries to shift it, protesting loudly when he accelerates too quickly. He’s next to the ocean, still pretty far from downtown, actually able to speed down along the roads, even as they begin to curve. He sees a long sharp turn ahead, hugging a cliff to the beach, the kind with 50 reflective arrows to let you know it’s there. The speeds were always way fucking slower than they needed to be on the things, he guesses because it was super easy to kill yourself going around them. He wondered how easy. It was a split second decision, gas pedal shoved to the floor forcefully. He only feels a few sensations, the wheel violently being ripped out of his hands, gravity giving up its hold on him, a great lurching of his body, and then nothing. 

* * *

  
  


The stars are out. They would be quite beautiful, if he could bring himself to care about those types of things anymore. There is something cool and soft under him and even though his rational mind tells him its sand he’s pretty sure this is what lying on a cloud would feel like. His whole body doesn’t feel quite right, not heavy enough and incredibly heavy at the same time. Slowly, like some strange CD track fading in he starts to hear the crashing of waves and-

“Absolute fucking idiot-!”

A voice? Is it talking to him? All he can see are stars, vision fuzzy and dark around the edges.

“Of all the stupid fucking things-!!”

He swallows, throat screaming like there is sand coating it all the way down. He doesn’t know why but he needs that voice, desperately. He manages to move his head and let out what could only be described as a whimper. The ranting next to him stops, and he feels a presence come nearer. Before long a face appears in his vision.

“Richie.” 

He is sure thousands of poets and philosophers have tried to describe with words the sensation he feels at that moment, but he knows immediately no one ever could.

“Eddie?” His voice is so small, so broken that he might be ashamed under different circumstances. 

“Richie.” The man repeats “You absolute piece of shit moron.” Richie feels a flutter in his chest and he’s pretty sure he should be sobbing except everything is still fuzzy, like he is surrounded by fog. He tries to move but his body is heavy and sluggish as if it is brand new. He struggles his way into sitting up, feeling small hands on his forearms, holding steady. The grip is warm and strong and  _ real, _ and now he does burst into tears, great heaving sobs coming out of his body in violent waves. Eddie remains there the whole time, cheekbones pink with anger, but a look in his eyes more tender than he ever remembered. 

“Come on, Richie, breath.” breathing felt fake, like there are no lungs actually in his chest, but he goes through the motions anyway. 

“Eddie,” he says when he can speak again “Eddie, Eds, I have to tell you-” he had sworn every night, staring into the oppressive darkness, that if he had even one more moment with him he would tell, he would tell him everything. Eddie interrupts him.   
“I know Richie, I know.” and even now Richie panics. 

“I’m sorry,” he gets out “I’m sorry Eds-”

“No.” Eddie interrupts again “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one that’s sorry. I never...never even considered, even  _ thought. _ I was stuck in this box that had been made for my life and I never even tried to step out of it. But I wish I had, wish I had tried.” he looks up and meets his eyes and Richie tries to lift his hand up to him, but it is too heavy. Eddie reaches up and cups his face instead. 

“You can’t do this Rich. Please don’t.” Richie ignores the plea, drunk on the feeling of Eddie’s hands, on the hopeful promise of his words.

“D’you...d’you think without the clown, maybe we could…” he remembers indulgent teenage fantasies where Eddie wasn’t disgusted by him, where they moved to the city where no one looked twice at two boys holding hands and built a life together “we could have been happy?” The pain he sees in Eddies eyes seems even greater than his physical pain when he had been bleeding out in the dark of the cave. 

“Yeah Rich.” he says uncharacteristically softly “Yeah I do.” The edges of Richie’s mind are sharpening, like his eyesight when he puts on his glasses. Somehow the more clarity he has the more sure he is this is a dream.

“You’re dead.” He says bluntly, almost accusatory. Eddie doesn’t get indignant, his expression doesn’t change at all. 

“I am.” That shot through him like a bullet, he would rather this vision denied it, enabled him to pretend. He chokes out something like a laugh. 

“Then what’s the point of this dream?” Eddie frowns this time. His thumbs gently run along Richie’s cheekbones and he decides immediately that the feeling would make any dream worth it. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats and Eddie’s frown deepens..

“I told you not to-”

“I’m sorry I left you in the fucking place, that horrible place you hated so much and I  _ left  _ you there. I-I tried to..but they dragged me out, I  _ couldn’t-”  _

“Hey.” Eddie interrupts. “It’s okay. That wasn’t me, not anymore.” Richie sobs out at this, the idea of Eddie’s body being nothing but an inanimate object. “You didn’t leave me, I’m right here.” 

“You’re not real.” Richie counters, and again Eddie’s brows furrowing is the only response he gets “I should have died instead.” Eddie looks mad then.

“Richie-”

“No, no listen-” Richie brings up his hands and clasps them around Eddie’s wrists. Even now he is startled by how small they are in his palms. “I’ve said this to myself, to you in my head over and over and I’m going to get it out, even to...to this fucking ghost my mind has created. It should have fucking been me. I’m the one who got caugh in those fucking  _ lights _ ….I can’t even remember what I saw just a  _ feeling-” _ his whole body shudders “You saved me and that’s why it got you how am I supposed to  _ live  _ with that. I said you were brave and got you down there, made you think it was all going to be okay but I  _ lied,  _ I fucking lied to you and you must have been so scared and hated me so much for being the reason that you-that you-”

“Richie!!” Eddie bursts out “Any of us would have died for the others, you know that you  _ know  _ it. It’s not fucking fair, none of this is okay but….but I didn’t die a coward because of you. Didn’t die comfortable and old in my bed but fucking empty.” He pauses to wipe at the fat tears leaking down Richie’s cheeks “And I’m sorry my last words to you were so shit.” Richie chokes out something close to a laugh.

“I never told you how much….you died and never knew because I’m a coward-”

“I know now.” Richie swallows.

“You really don’t hate me?”   
“Never.” Richie’s body is beginning to tingle slightly, like a limb falling asleep. For some reason it brings him a sense of dread. The sound of waves is suddenly more muffled.

“Maybe I’m still in those lights” he mutters “because it feels like I’m trapped in hell. Every day that I wake up again.” Eddie’s hands drop down to his neck. 

“You’ll keep going. Get through this.” He says “You’re strong Rich.” 

“I don’t want to be strong.” Richie whimpers, and to a past version of himself it would have been shameful “I just want to be with you.” Eddie swallows hard, a slight tremor in his hands.

“You can’t stay.” Richie’s entire gut lurches at the words.

“No, no. Please.” He’s not completely sure what he is begging for, just that panic is ripping through him “ _ Please.” _

“It’s not our choice.” Eddie says “Not mine.” It’s Richie’s turn to grab Eddie’s face, but the effort of it is enormous. 

“I’m afraid to forget. What you look like, sound like.” he says “Please just….a little longer” He studies Eddie’s face frantically, trying to memorize. To his horror his hands are suddenly too heavy to hold up, falling to the sand. 

“Even if you forget,” Eddie says sadly “I’ll be waiting.” Richie looks at him desperately. Everything seemed to be fading, bleeding like watercolors. “I’m always with you, it’s cliche as shit but remember okay? Always.” Richie tries to speak but he can’t so he just nods. He can’t tell if his vision is blurred because of tears or something else. It feels a little like he’s falling. He swears as he drops into darkness he can feel something press against his mouth, warm and sweet and as close to heaven as he has ever felt. 

* * *

  
  


Richie’s first conscious sensation is his clothes being removed. It’s so bizarre everything else barely registers. It’s bright, really fucking bright with lots of voices all around, but none he knows. His glasses are gone and that doesn’t fucking help anything. A cold sensation is running up his arm and when he feels his mind slipping back into the dark he can’t help but be glad

  
  


The next time he wakes up he immediately realizes he can’t breathe. Panic shoots through his body, but there is a sudden flurry of movement around him. Something long and solid is being pulled out of his throat and it is probably the worst sensation he has ever felt. He has almost no time to react to it as the cold is spreading back up his arm and soon wraps around his mind and consumes it. 

  
  


The third time Bill is there. He starts when Richie’s head moves towards him. 

“Richie…” He breathes out before immediately going to press a button next to what seems to be Richie’s bed. “Hey don’t move okay buddy? The nurses will be here soon.” And they are, in a flurry, poking and measuring. Bill is on the phone with someone the whole time they’re there, giving him glances now and again. He hears him say the word ‘awake’ more than once. They sit in tense silence once the medical staff leave until Bill gets a notification on his phone. 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Richie simply glances at him and Bill swallows awkwardly before exiting the room. Richie waits silently, realizing he hasn’t yet assessed the state of his body. He doesn’t feel much, probably pumped full of pain drugs, but his right leg is heavy and stiff in a way that tells him it’s probably in a cast. He snaps back to attention when the door clicks open. Bill walks in, followed by three others. Even in this state he feels his heart flutter as Bev, Ben and Mike walk into the room. Bev is of course the first at his side. 

“Richie,” She breathes, half between anger and relief “You really scared the fucking shit out of us.” She moves like she wants to hug him but thinks better of it, glancing down at his body. He probably looks like fucking shit. Ben appears behind her, and his eyes are a little damp, ever the sensitive soul. Bill and Mike stand solemnly on the other side, a solid presence for each other. They were all here, had come from whatever corners of the country just for stupid suicidal Richie Tozier. He loved them, he really did, but…

“Richie?” A soft questioning voice. “You alright honey?” The fact he had been silent this whole time had probably registered to all of them as wrong. 

“Yeah..” he croaks out, and the lie tastes like acid on his tongue “I just…” he looks up at the bright white ceiling above him and just like he swore he would he  _ remembers  _ “I had a dream.” 

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say except I'm sorry? Worst birthday fic ever. (Thanks @CassandraCaffrey for the idea lol)


End file.
